So, as both marshalmeg
mentioned, there were gunshots outside the house last night. Which always makes me think of Spain. But anyway. We were watching the (bloody excellent) BBC series of Ghormenghast last night too, which put us already in a dark and slightly feral mood, but lo. A bullet-- probably a 9mm-- likely hit the wall outside Sil's bathroom. Y'know, while she was in it.
This morning, the neighbor found a shotgun shell in front of the tree by the street (the house is set way back from such), and snarled a little. And the bosslady yelled at me for not calling the cops.
To tell the truth, the thought of calling the cops didn't even occur to me. But then, I would probably think of calling my senator before I thought of calling the cops. I... well, sort of know why, but I have this deep-rooted belief that the police are absolutely and utterly incapable of life. I dunno. Maybe it would have done some good, maybe not, but I find the cognative disconnect... interesting, anyway. I dunno.
Therapy and mexican food to-night. Right now: English muffins and paperwork.
How the mighty have splattered.
(And lo', a merry natal to reynardbleu
. Many happy returns of the day, ay wot.)